


More Like an Omega Site

by TheNinth



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Bad Jokes, Gen, sga_santa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-17
Updated: 2009-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-05 20:20:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/45708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheNinth/pseuds/TheNinth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple reconnaissance mission to an uninhabited planet includes complications, angry nomads, and very bad jokes. Set in a vague, fuzzy space where Ford is MIA and Ronon has not yet been found.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More Like an Omega Site

**Author's Note:**

> Written for clwilson2006 as part of sga_santa.

This wasn't supposed to be difficult, this little trip to M4Q-329 with McKay. Teyla was laid up with a badly sprained knee so they were just going to have a quick look and then come back later for a more thorough look once she could walk. The trees were too dense near the 'gate to bring a Jumper through, otherwise they would have done a flyover first.

This wasn't supposed to be difficult, so Sheppard's really surprised to see there's a crossbow bolt less than five feet away from his breastbone and he and McKay both have their hands raised, showing they're not holding weapons.

The men surrounding them are angry. _Very_ angry and very well armed with bows, crossbows, and knives. They're close enough that any shot would surely hit the mark, and just far enough away that if Sheppard made any sort of a move in any direction he'd be dead before he could blink. So he stares at the guy directly in front of him. His eyes are so dark that they seem black -- or it could be that the guy's pupils are so expanded that that's all that's visible.

"Do you think it's drugs?" He practically breathes the words instead of speaking. There's a subtle shift in Rodney's position and then the two of them are standing back-to-back.

"Drugs?"

"Their eyes, McKay. Look at their eyes."

One of the guys staring at McKay reaches into the pouch hanging from his belt. He plucks out a thing that looks like a grape, bites into it, and chews slowly. "I'm guessing that's the drug," McKay says. "The grape things."

Neither of them seems willing to make too much noise or any sudden movements. Experimentally, John tries to lower his arms. The entire group or tribe or whatever that's surrounding them snaps to attention. They go at ease the moment John raises his hands again. It's an interesting effect, but not one he's ready to duplicate -- the next time the angry guys might decide to shoot first.

Finally, John says "Hey" in what he hopes is a calm, friendly voice but even he can tell it sounds slightly accusatory and afraid. He tries to think of what Teyla might say in a situation like this. "We mean you no harm."

There's a murmur that runs through the crowd. Behind him he hears Rodney draw a sharp breath.

"You okay, buddy?"

"Yeah. Big Knife over here just took a step closer. That's all. Nothing to worry about. Didn't Teyla say this planet was uninhabited?"

"She did. But she also mentioned that some tribes of nomads come through to gather fruit. This must be them." Sheppard smiles awkwardly at the slowly advancing man who was probably their leader. Or at least their most-skilled hunter, judging by the number of pelts hanging at his waist. "Hey," he says again and waggles his fingers.

The nomad tenses, grunts. When Rodney squeaks, John supposes that Big Knife had taken another step closer. When the tribesman approaching John stops and grins, John thinks that it would have been a friendly smile if he hadn't filed all of his teeth into sharp spikes. They're stained red from the fruits and the overall effect is ... pretty creepy, really. The smell is pretty bad, too. Skunky. Sheppard can't tell if it's from the pelts, the guy's own funk, or possibly both.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Rodney mutters, and before John can think of a snarky reply the tribe descends on them.

* * *

"You know, I've never been hog-tied before. It's a whole lot more painful than you'd think it would be." Rodney sounds oddly philosophical about it. He's on his side on the ground, with his hands tied to his ankles. To keep him from working his hands free, the nomads had wrapped strips of cloth from his feet to just above his wrists.

"It's like a permanent sit-up," McKay adds. "Kinda hard to breathe."

"Tell me about it." Sheppard is tied up on a cross so that his feet barely touched the ground. If he tries to stand flat, the pressure on his shoulders and ribs is intense. He could breathe if he stayed on his toes, but that makes his legs ache.

"So I'm going to say that this planet is a 'no' as an alpha site."

"When we get back, I want this going in the database as a 'not on your life' site."

"_If_ we get back," McKay says darkly.

"_When_. We missed check-in. Elizabeth will send Lorne and his men through, and we'll be fine."

They hadn't seen the nomads in roughly two hours. It was possible that they'd left the planet entirely. If they _were_ still out there, he knew that Lorne had enough sense to come through armed. "Never let me go through the 'gate unarmed again, McKay."

"I'm never going through the 'gate without guns _and_ Teyla again. She probably could've reasoned with those goons."

John mumbles an agreement. They should've brought weapons. They should've brought a few extra Marines. They should've... they should've brought a _footstool_, dammit. This tiptoe thing was old already.

"McKay, think you can crawl over here so I can stand on you?"

"What! No! Even if I could, I wouldn't let you."

"Aw, c'mon. I'd let you stand on me."

"No you wouldn't."

"Next time we're tied up, I swear I'll let you stand on me. Seriously, come over here because my arms are about to pull out of their sockets."

"Again, no. I'm in enough pain without having your weight crushing my spine. Did you know there's not a single person in Atlantis who's a licensed chiropractor?"

"I bet you could find a cute girl willing to give you a backrub."

"What? You think I want some amateur touching me? I'd probably end up confined to a wheelchair."

"You could hang out with Stephen Hawking." Sheppard replies bitterly. He's tired and sore and he knows they're going to have to carry him through the 'gate because everything from the neck down feels pretty useless. Suddenly Rodney's fears of paralysis don't seem so crazy.

When the sun sets, Rodney makes a weird sound like he's trying not to cry.

* * *

"Major! I found them!"

The shouting wakes him. He thinks the nomads are back, but then realizes the voices are speaking English -- accented, but English.

When he opens his eyes there's a mousy little scientist -- clutching a lifesigns detector in both hands -- staring at him. Sheppard's not sure who this guy is (and doubts Rodney could identify him either), but right now he's the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful mousy little scientist in the world.

And Evan Lorne is the most beautiful, perfect, wonderful Air Force major Sheppard has ever seen.

The guy with the knife is even _more_ beautiful and perfect and wonderful. At least until the point where he says "these ropes are like plaster casts. I'm gonna need a saw or something."

Lorne sends him and the scientist back to the 'gate to get supplies -- including "food, water, and Beckett" then he turns to Sheppard and smiles as he shoves a few rocks under Sheppard's feet. "So. What've you been doing?"

"Oh, just hanging around."

Rodney, still on the ground a few feet away, groans and says "Really?"


End file.
